Let It Win

it is time, the day scorched & burned
deep down to cold dead coal
the season of throat-deep teeth
gnawing away at the holiness of
the sun. time to go outside & lurch
like a smashed train, & howl unclothed
under a moon-hulled nothing then
find a suitable bear
drag its bottomless warmth over
my back and wear it like a primeval
bathrobe all winter. the bear won't
mind and I can withstand
the disfiguring weight and claws
god knows I have carried more
terrible things into and out of life
and life has found me fit to go on
living. I'm done with that
procrastination now. it's just me and
the cold and the damn bear. that is all.
when I bow, I do so palms up
and the bear bows with me, repeats
what I do, an angry shadow, a hateful
twin. nothing gets out alive
no anguish no resentment or suffering
escapes this shaggy weight
this brutal surrender. everything
must go, house and foundation
and the architect that built it.
the bear knows how and I,
dying man, am going to wear it and
let it win.